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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076645">Breaking free</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yjunsz/pseuds/yjunsz'>yjunsz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, No Romance, One Shot, Sad with a Happy Ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yjunsz/pseuds/yjunsz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know this is best for you, Kai. I can still see the teardrops on this paper.”</p><p>Slowly, hesitantly, I envelop Beomgyu’s hand in my own, and he leaves the paper in my hands. “You wrote all these words. Read them. Feel the pain in them. Absorb it, summon that emotion, and go on stage.”</p><p>“I’m scared.”</p><p>That’s the first time I’ve admitted it aloud: the fear of being fearful. Of wanting confidence. Of everything. I lean back against the wall behind me, the crumpled paper in one hand, and a handful of black curtains in the other.</p><p>“Not once in those six months did you ever stand up to him. Now’s your chance to be vulnerable for your own sake, not for his. I know you can do that…” His clenched fist flings towards my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to take the hit… but his fist hits the wall beside me. My body grows tense in indescribable fear.</p><p>“And if you can’t muster that courage…” He looks into my eyes, and lets tears fall from his face.</p><p>“Then force it. Fake it until you make it. Do something to prove to yourself that you're worth more than your experiences, you crybaby!”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Yeonjun/Huening Kai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breaking free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>2919 word count, one-shot<br/>1st POV; Hueningkai</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> They say the middle seat in a theater is the best. That the entire room is built to direct sound at the center. That it’s easiest to feel the emotional impact of a performance when you can feel the music so strongly. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>My hand has a tight grip on the velvety, black curtain hiding the crew and performers from the audience. The backstage lights emit a small buzz, yet everyone still drowns in complete darkness. I see silhouettes of my peers and instructors, all of them engaging in forced, awkward chatter - I assume as a distraction from the nervousness. The show director reclines herself against the broken stage-light lever, despite the very obvious sign demanding to refrain from doing so. Swiftly, I push the curtain an inch to take a peek at the audience, and my stomach drops instantly.</p><p> </p><p>“I told you not to look out there, Kai. You knew he’d show up.”</p><p> </p><p>Beomgyu’s right. I wish he weren’t. I don't take the energy to mutter a response, instead dropping the large, black fabric back in place and pivoting myself to face him. He stares back, clearly amused by my restlessness. “It’s not the end of the world.”</p><p> </p><p>But it is. It feels like it.</p><p> </p><p>He places an arm on my shoulder and tightens his grip; a failed attempt at comforting me. “Don't worry. You’ve got this.”</p><p> </p><p>All I can do is worry. My greatest fear is vulnerability - people knowing how I feel. Especially the dude in seat K9. All I can do is observe Beomgyu as he rummages through my bag, my entire body stiff to the bone.</p><p> </p><p>I don't mind his nosiness. After having known him for a year, I’ve gotten used to the fact that nosiness is a trait of his. He’s mostly observant, though. He’s aware of so much, but speaks so little. It’s admirable, especially in an environment where hostility and tension thrive.</p><p> </p><p>High school is the worst. <em> The absolute worst. </em></p><p> </p><p>Bemused by my anxieties and nervousness, I zone out, my hand finding its way back to the curtain to hold in my clammy hands. I think Beomgyu’s trying to catch my attention, but I’m far too invested in my thoughts to pay mind to him.</p><p> </p><p>I know I don't miss him - but I can't take my mind off of him. I haven't been able to in months. After half a year of being so close, yet so distant, all he is to me now is a stranger. Just a boy in seat K9, ready to watch a school show.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeonjun.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yeonjun?! Why?! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>I fling my head back up, not knowing I had even dropped it in the first place. <em> I need to protect myself. I don't want to hurt anymore. Get away. </em></p><p> </p><p>My anxieties start to swallow me whole, and my train of thought starts veering off its tracks.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don't touch me. Don't touch me. I don't need you… Get away from me…! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Stop!”</p><p> </p><p>My vision blackens and I throw my hands, purely out of instinct, and a <em> thud </em> rings in my ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Kai! What the hell?!”</p><p> </p><p>I regain my vision and sense of self, only to find Beomgyu on the ground. He’s holding his knee and writing in pain. “You made me bang my knee on the table!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh… I’m safe, I guess. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” I stammer, reluctantly holding a hand out to help Beomgyu up. “Do you need a nurse? Can you still play piano?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he confirms, slapping my hand away and helping himself up; “but shouldn't you accompany yourself? It is <em> your </em> song, and your emotions. I don't think I could portray your feelings as well as… you know… <em> you </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Shaken to my core, I can only stare at him. I’m far too nervous to play. Sure, I know how to play the song, but that doesn't mean anything.</p><p> </p><p>I feel a whack against my chest, and look down at the source: Beomgyu’s clutched hand, with a crumpled piece of paper cradled inside. “You know this is best for you, Kai. I can still see the teardrops on this paper.”</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, hesitantly, I envelop Beomgyu’s hand in my own, and he leaves the paper in my hands. “You wrote all of those words. Read them. Feel the pain in them. Absorb it, summon that emotion, and go on stage.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>scared</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>That’s the first time I’ve admitted it aloud: the fear of being fearful. Of wanting confidence. Of everything, really. I lean back against the wall behind me, the crumpled paper in one hand, and a handful of black curtains in the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Not once in those six months did you ever stand up to him,” whispers Beomgyu, kicking my bag back into the corner where I’d left it. “Now’s your chance to be vulnerable for your own sake, not for his. I know you can do that…”</p><p> </p><p>Beomgyu’s gaze darkens. I think I can see a tear fall from his face, but it’s too dark to tell. To my own surprise, his clenched fist flings towards my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to take the hit…</p><p> </p><p>But his fist hits the wall beside me. My body grows tense in indescribable fear.</p><p> </p><p>“...And if you can't do it… if you can’t muster that courage…” He looks up, into my eyes, and lets his tears fall from his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Then force it. Fake it until you make it. Do something to prove to yourself that you're worth more than your experiences, you <em> crybaby </em>!”</p><p> </p><p>This time, when Beomgyu flings a hand towards my face, he doesn't miss. A cold, open palm strikes my cheek, but I don't react. As much as I want to, I don't grab my burning cheek and hiss in pain. I let the burning sensation push a tear from my eye, and I let that tear fall until it dissolves at my cheekbone.</p><p> </p><p>“You can leave now, Gyu.”</p><p> </p><p>I almost feel like he’s intentionally lashing out, so I’m forced to accompany myself. I’m irritated enough to take the bait, though. Without another word, Beomgyu erases his name from the login sheet and leaves the room.</p><p> </p><p>Exhausted and confused, I let my back slide against the wall as I drop myself to the ground. The chatter amongst the other performers hasn't died down, but most of the crew is gone. I assume the show’s already started. Now that I think about it, I can hear a duet on-stage amongst the chatter.</p><p> </p><p>I unleash a loud sigh, eyes skimming past the old architecture above the stage and landing on the dim, buzzing lights in the far corner. I’m usually excited to be on stage, shaking with a burning desire to sing with a group before an audience. This time around, I’m shaking with a burning desire to escape - but if I did, it’d be the same as last time.</p><p> </p><p>And the time before that.</p><p> </p><p>Beomgyu’s right. I need to grow up. I feel a small ball of confidence growing in my chest, now… and a small grin tugs at the corners of my lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Huening?” A student on the production team politely calls me by name, and that ball of confidence dissolves instantly. Nervously, I look up at the student and hum in response. “I’m right here.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please don't say those four words… please don't. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’re on in five.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> …They did anyways.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>I hold back an agonizing sob and nod my head. “I’ll go to the lineup.”</p><p> </p><p>Walking across the stage behind those daunting, black curtains has never been so tiring. I lumber my way to the east wing of the stage, where another performer patiently waits. He’s a familiar silhouette, with a bright, red head that, despite the overwhelming darkness, seems to light the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Taehyun?”</p><p> </p><p>Upon eye contact, I can practically feel shock radiate from his person. “Huening!” He whispers excitedly, face scrunching into a bright smile. “It’s been so long! How are you and Yeonjun?”</p><p> </p><p>Wow… it really has been long.</p><p> </p><p>“We broke up,” I fake a chuckle, “like… two months ago.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Shh </em>!” I whisper-screech, placing a hand over his mouth. “We are on deck, sir!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he frowns, raking his fiery, vibrant locks back with his hand. “About that and Yeonjun.”</p><p> </p><p>My face contorts a bit, almost shocked at his apology. I shake it off, though, instead deciding to crack a grin. “Don't be sorry. It’s not your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s funny how long you can know a person, to feel so connected to them, yet to want to wish those memories away so desperately. To wish it weren’t a lie, or an excuse to behave irrationally. Of course, only growth can be achieved from experience, but why did it have to be like this?</p><p> </p><p>A thick fog of awkwardness invades, only the booming sound of the choir’s bass section being able to slice through. Taehyun flashes a sweet grin and turns around, thus ending the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“Up next: Kang Taehyun singing <em> She Was Pretty </em> by J.Y Park. Please share your applause.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s me!” Pipes Taehyun, snatching a sparkly, silver jacket from the floor that I hadn't noticed before. “Good luck,” I whisper, holding up a fist to show support.</p><p> </p><p>Taehyun looks back, a bright grin plastered on his face, and mirrors my gesture. “You too, Huening.”</p><p> </p><p>Then, his song starts, and he runs onto the stage like a chipper child. He’s always stood out. Not that it’s a bad thing - I find it funny… almost admirable. When we first met, he said: “<em> I like your last name… Huening. Kai is so bland </em>.” I found it comical; how he didn't realize how blunt and disrespectful he sounded. I didn't mind, though. Observing him always gave me courage, and watching him run onto the stage with so much passion and energy made me realize that he still does. Without even knowing it, he continues to feed me that energy I need to push forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Taehyun,” I say aloud, despite knowing he’d never hear me over the booming speakers. “Thank you for your courage.”</p><p> </p><p>As the only student who came on stage with outstanding energy and a choreography for his song, Taehyun’s sure to get loads of applause. As I watch him prance about the stage, Beomgyu’s words ring in my head: <em> “And as the only student who composed and is going to sing their own song, you’re sure to get as much applause as he is.” </em></p><p> </p><p>I forget how much I’ve been geeking over Taehyun’s performance. I’m sure Beomgyu had gotten tired of it. Still, his words were kind.</p><p> </p><p>I hear Taehyun’s song end and the faint sound of the piano being rolled on stage.</p><p> </p><p>“Up next is Kai Huening, accompanied by Choi Beomgyu, singing <em> Who I Am </em>, a song one hundred percent composed and written by Kai Huening.”</p><p> </p><p>That little fool didn't tell the director he dropped out.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m right here!”</p><p> </p><p>A familiar, brunette-headed boy rises from the crowd and waves an arm. “I dropped out - but Kai can play piano just fine!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What an idiot. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>By now, I’m fuming in anger and humiliation. It’s not too late to run off, get plastic surgery, dye my hair, change my identity, and move to the Carribean. Right? I’ll become Francis McMillan: highschool drop-out and amateur cartoonist. </p><p> </p><p>I snap out of my most desired fantasy and clench my fists, allowing my fingernails to dig into the sweaty skin on my palms. Every step I take grows heavier with every millisecond. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don't look at the crowd, Kai. Don’t look for him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>I look down at my feet as I walk, trying my hardest not to squeeze my eyes shut - trying my hardest to not rub off stage and commence<em> Operation: Francis McMillan Transformation.</em></p><p> </p><p>Finally, I reach the piano. Sitting myself down on the leather bench is almost as comforting as sitting in my mom’s lap when I was younger. Mollified merely by the presence of the keys before me, I loosen up a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Woo-hoo! Go Kai!” Hollers Beomgyu, his failing arms “accidentally” smacking the pink-headed man beside him. “Oops,” he drones, emotionlessly. “That was an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He’s so loud!!! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>My lip twitches in humiliation, but I choose to ignore Beomgyu’s immaturity. He can bully Yeonjun all he wants, <em> unfortunately </em>. </p><p> </p><p>I place my hands on the keys gently, the smooth, polished surface of the keys surging confidence through my veins, and I start pressing the keys.</p><p> </p><p>I can feel the music coming from the piano as the sound vibrates through the ground, as it echoes through the theater. As I press the monochrome keys, I feel like I’ve begun to paint on a new canvas - much unlike the old one, splattered with black paint from a blackened soul. I always thought painting over the mess would fix the canvas, but as more and more paint took over the entire canvas, I was desperately throwing a mess of colors… And when I looked back to see why I was so despaired, there he was. That same old, pink-haired man, who I thought was painting beautiful colors with me, carelessly squirting that darkened pigment all over the place. But behind him, I realized that there was an entire world. A place I can escape to.</p><p> </p><p>I always thought to myself, “I have to fix this. This is my only chance.” I always thought I was restricted to this one, tainted, torn canvas. If Yeonjun hadn't thrown me away, like trash, I wouldn't have realized that there’s more to life than the responsibility of satisfying someone.</p><p> </p><p>As I zone back into the real world and far from my own metaphorical world, I realize the amount of bravery I had summoned from within myself. I hear my loud, booming voice, and the blend of pain and confidence in every word I sing. I can hear my emotions come to life in the chords the piano sings and the lyrics that spill from my mouth.</p><p> </p><p>This is my canvas - and nobody else is near it. I can use all the colors I want. I can paint the most beautiful, astounding work of art ever seen, and show it to the world before me. I have absolutely nothing dragging me down, holding me back, or hurting me.</p><p> </p><p>Unlike the rest of my song, I can hear the last line that emits from the depths of my soul, and the notes of my voice dance with the notes of the piano.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Thank you for setting me free</em>.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Silence</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Deafening silence fills the room, and it clogs my ears. Upon the rattling fear that my most vulnerable point in my lifetime could be met with ferocious jeering, I quickly lift my hands from the keys and hide my face.</p><p> </p><p>But my ears are welcomed with a single clap. Then another. Then some more… then I hear an absolute uproar from the audience. Every person in the room is cheering and clapping their hands a bright red, except for one familiar, pink-haired man in the center of the room, reclined in seat K9.</p><p> </p><p>They say the middle seat in a theater is the best. That the entire room is built to direct sound at the center. That it’s easiest to feel the emotional impact of a performance when you can feel the music so strongly. I wonder why he chose the middle seat, when I’m pretty sure he isn’t acquainted with any other performer in the show.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s my best friend!” Growls Beomgyu chaotically, flailing his arms and jumping around in place. “Hey, peach-head! Stand up and clap. You’re in the middle seat. The best one in the house.”</p><p> </p><p>I can’t hear his quiet voice, but whatever he said must have been enough for Beomgyu to grab him by the collar and stand him up. He’s got a pugnacious gleam in his eye, ready to throw hands at even the smallest misdeed. “Just this once, treat the damn man with respect and clap!”</p><p> </p><p>I was able to express myself before an entire audience, and I realize now that there’s nothing Yeonjun can do about it - so there's no reason to be so invested in his approval. I don't need it. I don't need him.</p><p> </p><p>I bring myself to my feet, and bow to the audience. “Thank you for listening, everyone!”</p><p> </p><p>I look down at my feet again, but this time, not in shame. I stare at my shoes, watching a small bump form at the top as I crunch my toes - but my attention is taken by the small water droplets collecting at the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?” I look up to see where it’s coming from, but quickly connect the dots as I feel a few more run down my cheeks and connect at my chin. I instantly understand why as I recall my words from mere seconds ago: “<em> Thank you for listening…! </em>”</p><p> </p><p>People listened to me. My voice was heard - and people are applauding me for it. It’s absolutely thrilling. This must have been what Beomgyu wanted. I’m forever grateful for him.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Never again will I let my voice be silenced. Never again will I let someone run black paint across my canvas. I’ve learned to be my own person. Now that I know how draining it feels to give myself up to someone else, I’ll learn to cherish my freedom, strengths, and individuality. Thank you, Choi Yeonjun, for releasing me from my cage. Thank you for setting me free.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was based off a true story! :) Thank you for reading. Also, sorry Soobin didn't make an appearance ;-; I promise u i love him i SWEAR okay i DO</p></blockquote></div></div>
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